Yesterday's Thoughts, Tomorrow's Moments
by CumulativeExperience
Summary: It's been five years since Robin lost his memories from a fight involving Slade. Robin - now Richard Grayson - is living a superhero-free life under Bruce Wayne's roof, oblivious to his past. Oblivious that Bruce and his newly-adopted son Tim Drake are Gotham's crime fighting duo. A fateful meeting, a few words, and his world is mixed with hers... [DISCONTINUED; up for adoption]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own the Teen Titans (sadly).**

**This: "µµµ" signifies a change in POV. I hope y'all will get the gist of it.**

**Anyway, here's my second multi-chapter RaeRob fanfic. Enjoy~**

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_Hokkaido, Japan_

Around her, the world moved. It progressed, unrelenting, never wavering, constantly moving forward. Things aged and new things were born continuously at an ever-changing rate.

The cherry blossoms fell at her feet, swirling around her. Black tendrils of energy licked at her skin, silent and deadly. The air whipped and whistled around her, throwing her hair into disarray. She lifted one slender hand to tuck the stray strands behind her ears to prevent them from hitting her face any further.

Her thoughts faded into a serene, peaceful blankness.

She didn't need her emotions anymore. Those were suppressed and brought under control for a long time. Now, she didn't need to fear them because of what they would do to her powers.

No, she simply needed to let some of that power out. She needed some form of release to keep herself from imploding.

"Tadaima," a gentle, masculine voice called out, only audible to sensitive ears.

"Okairinasai," she replied, turning towards the decrepit temple. It took a while for her to call her power back to her body. It was becoming harder to do so nowadays rather than to simply let them loose for a few precious minutes.

"How's the world treating you so far?" the man asked, smiling lightly at her. The language came so easily to her, despite being in this country for only a week.

She wasn't a simpleton; she knew where she was the moment she saw her surroundings. It wasn't hard to guess where in the world she was when a temple greeted her, with a monk at its gates. The garments were a dead give-away.

Just because she had been transported like an animal – in a cage with only holes to provide her necessary oxygen – in a government plane from America didn't mean that she was one.

After five years of being under lock-and-key in a secure mental institution, she had finally been released. She was given this week to integrate into the new world again. Gone were the growing sense of claustrophobia and the overpowering stench of cotton and the restricting magic-inhibiting cuffs on her wrists; now, there was only the feeling of freedom.

She wished that she was back in that room.

"It is…a refreshing change, Muramasa-_dono_," she replied with a small bow of her head, arms tucked neatly at her sides. The wind screeched loudly behind them and, in a fit of annoyance, she used her powers to shut the door.

The monk was privy to her case, and had offered his temple for her use as a last-minute resort to save it. She couldn't blame the man – the place was falling apart.

"You will be escorted back to your parole officer tonight," he informed her. He stepped forward to place a hand on her shoulder, his brown kimono pulling back a little to let her see a glimpse of the scars travelling from his wrists to his arms in one, long, morbid swirl. "I have asked the servants to prepare a feast for us, purple hair-_san_. It's time we got some normal food in you, hmm?"

The man turned away, and did not see the small twitch of her lips as they attempted to crawl their way into a smile.

It was rare, she observed, to have people who genuinely cared for you, despite having been total strangers to each other.

She would know – she could feel the sincerity streaming from him, after all.

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The sea lapped softly on the shore, seeming to slowly eat away at the beach. It was this that the woman tried to focus her thoughts upon. This peace, this constant cycle of coming and going, the knowledge that the ocean will always come back and never fully leave. It was a constant. It was stable. It didn't bother her that it was starting to make her new shoes wet. Those could be replaced. The remnants of what she used to call her life couldn't be.

A small disturbance caught her attention, but it wavered only slightly as the space beside her shifted, the sand allowing for something to delve deep into it.

"It's nice to see you again," the male said. He seemed hesitant to come any closer, and she couldn't blame him. She'd been in _that place_ for two years. She didn't want to remember why.

"You're the first," she quipped lightly. Her new clothes did not fit her properly, and they hung around her slim frame. She wasn't toned anymore; she was fragile, breakable. So unlike what she used to be. Her eyes did not shine, and her skin was paler, so close to being a milky white. She looked dead and it was unsurprising that she felt that way, too. "Do you know what's happened to the others lately?"

"Starfire's in Tokyo," the man answered, his deep voice almost matching the roar of the sea, yet rising above it, signifying his mastery of it and what lay in its deep blue depths. "She seems happy, but she only just arrived a few weeks ago. She told me her coordinates were off; she wanted to come here, actually, before she had to go back to her home planet. Cyborg's working with the Justice League now. And Beastboy is in Florida with Terra. They all seem to be...content."

Deep, yawning regret filled her. She was just in Japan. Granted, she wouldn't have been able to hold the smallest conversations with her friend in Tokyo; it would have given her the tiniest sense of happiness to be able to see Starfire again, though.

She prevented herself from sighing. She'd had control over her emotions; she's had a lot of time to do so. She shouldn't be hung up on them now. Zatanna, who visited her often, told her to move on. She was ready to once she got out of the institute. But now, being so near the sea and being so far away from everyone...she didn't know if she wanted to.

"That's good," she commented before standing up. She brushed away the traces of sand that clung to her clothes. "Thank you, Aqualad."

"Always here to help," he replied with a small smile of his own. He had felt compelled to come to shore, and he knew why once he saw the girl sitting alone - as she always used to be - on the shores of Jump, under the ruins of the main Titans tower. It had been five years, and she had changed so much, looking less than the powerful woman he once knew her to be. He wondered if it was a good idea to leave her alone again. She'd been in solitary confinement for five whole years, after all. Gone was the leotard, the cloak. All replaced by civilian clothes - a shirt and jeans and a pair of nearly-soaked sneakers - that it was hard to recognize her as the superhero she used to be. The only indication of her old self was the small, infinitesimal indention on her forehead from where her chakra gem was missing. "Are you sure you want to be alone?"

"I'll find my way around," she replied with a small grin. "The Oracle is helping me with everything. I'm staying with her in Boston."

"Will I see you again?" he asked, concerned. His feet were already in the water; he found that he couldn't stay away from the sea for too long. His domain as the prince lay there, after all.

"Maybe," she answered. It gained her another small, friendly smile before the man disappeared in the ocean, leaving no trace of his arrival but a few footsteps near her. She sighed into the air. "Maybe not."

µµµ

I adjusted my tie, making sure that I looked as perfect as Bruce intended me to be and not the 'mess' that I was in when I first woke up five years ago. I was an adult now, and there was no need to be affected by things in the past.

The confusion I felt once I had woken up dominated my days back then, each bleeding into each other as Bruce and Alfred and Tim nursed me to health. It didn't take long to be integrated into the Gotham socialite community once again. No one told me what happened before, and I frankly lost any interest in what happened then.I couldn't really say anything about myself back then, and I still can't - what kind of past Richard did I have to compare myself to, after all?

The way I saw it, I was blissfully unaware of whatever went on back then, and I didn't want that to change. What's the point of finding out? I have a future of managing Wayne Enterprises. Being Bruce's heir and underling, I have everything any male could ever want, and more. I almost had the world at my feet, and while I have a healthy respect for Bruce and his principles, I can't help but feel a little impulse to cheat and lie my way to the top. I wasn't one to deny myself of those small, inconsequential moments.

A small knock interrupted my thoughts, and I allowed myself to smile.

Tim Drake, Bruce's adopted son and (legally) my brother, stood at the doorway in the same formal attire.

"At this rate, you'll outshine Commissioner Gordon," he said somberly, returning my smile with a small one of his own. I noticed a small bruise near the nape of his shirt, but I refrained from pointing it out.

He and Bruce kept disappearing in the middle of the night, and sometimes, when Bruce was out for a prolonged business trip, Tim went out on his own. I couldn't help but wonder what these outings involved, but I didn't judge. Tim was, after all, a teenager. Hormones were hard to control and in our 'family', relationships were close to impossible if you wanted them to last. I understood these...urges. I just wished that they would take me with them; they seemed to never tire of wherever they went, while I was quickly burning through every club and hostel in Gotham and around it.

"Well, I only want to pay my respects," I replied, brushing past him. He and Bruce were close to the old Commissioner, and while I maintained a healthy relationship with the man, I did not get calls from him as much as Bruce did. "I also heard that his daughter is quite the beauty."

"I hope you're not there to pick up bereaved family members," he said sternly, trying to hide a smile that I knew was hidden behind a scowl. The same one that old man Bruce seemed to maintain a lot, not only at home, but outside. Maybe it was that scowl that got him the ladies; I didn't doubt that he may even be in an affair with his secretary, Selina Kyle. It wouldn't faze me, though. The woman is great, despite her age. She looked better than most middle-aged women, and she didn't seem to be aware of it.

"Why, Tim Drake, I didn't know you could have such un-gentlemanly thoughts," I quipped, patting him on the shoulder. How hard must this be on him? On Bruce? But I didn't care much for that. "Now let's go and be respectful, hmm?"

"The car is ready, Master Richard," Alfred piped up from beside me. The man moved stealthier than any other, I thought with a grimace.

I let the smile linger on my face a little longer as I tightened Tim's tie for him. "Let's go, boy. Wouldn't want to miss another look at the old man, eh?"

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**A/N: Why Japan? Because I've been watching way too much anime. I know, I should stop...soon...after the 300th episode...maybe. **


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said, sitting awkwardly at Commissioner Gordon's home. Legally, it was Mrs. Gordon's house, and honestly, she was uncomfortable sitting here. It was Gotham, and she knew that Robin would be here, one way or another.

Is that what he called himself nowadays? She never bothered to ask. She felt like she was imposing on Barbara, staying with her while she caught up on what she had missed. Being held in a padded room with a demon magic-cancelling straightjacket helped her regain herself over the past few years, and now she had to re-learn what was right and wrong in the world after a five year-long hiatus from people.

Sadness and grief and regret washed over her in waves, depleting her patience just as the ocean washed grains of sand away gradually, in its own pace. Every person in this house reeked of sadness, and she mulled over how ironic it was to be surrounded with such negativity on her first few weeks back from being mentally and emotionally dead.

Barbara hastily wiped the few stray tears that flowed from her closed lids. She envied her; how refreshing would it be to actually have a father that didn't try to kill you, or make you into his portal, or use you as a means to end the world?

She felt lucky, though, that no one recognized her. It came as a shock to her – how can they not notice the purple hair, the amethyst eyes, the deathly pale skin? Wasn't she familiar to these people? Hadn't she made a name for herself?

Apparently not; then again, it was better that way…wasn't it?

"He was a great man," Barbara said, glancing at the coffin with a wistful look in her eyes. "I'm not just saying that because lots of people say it. Unlike them, I actually believe it. He…he supported me, even when the Joker shot me, y'know?"

She let her talk, her words drowned under a myriad of many others. Funerals always seemed so depressing, she thought. Why can't they actually 'celebrate' the life of the man who went out with a bang, rather than mourn the loss of another human being? Mourning death was so typical. Heck, _death_ was typical. It was a normal occurrence. How can one man be so different from the rest?

Suddenly, all talk of comfort and attempts to lighten the mood decreased to a bunch of murmurs and whispers. It grated against her nerves, but she kept a firm yet gentle hold on Barbara's shoulder. However, the woman herself stopped talking, and was now looking at the doorway.

She steeled herself; she knew that this tight, gripping feeling in her gut could only be explained by the arrival of the one person she knew she didn't even have the right to meet.

The familiar air of confidence swirled around him, and she could feel it digging deep into her skin and setting her heart alive. She wanted to leave, but knew that if she did, she'd make a scene out of it. Babs would never forgive her.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Bruce Wayne said as he faced Commissioner Gordon's coffin. His statement was directed towards the man's widow and crippled daughter. Tim stood beside him, and…

"Thank you for coming," Mrs. Gordon replied, her tone broken and laced with so much sadness that it almost overwhelmed the empath standing not too far away from her. The reply seemed automatic; how many times had she heard it coming from the old woman tonight? "He would have appreciated you coming here."

Bruce finally faced them, and his eyes swept over the three women standing before him, lingering a little longer in her direction. In that spare second, she knew that he recognised her. There was unbridled disdain in his eyes at that moment, and it almost made her cringe. Tim merely looked shocked at the sight of her.

But the man that she thought she'd get the most reaction from, the man that she thought would have every right to end her right then…he didn't do anything. His face showed nothing but boredom and slight amusement at the sight of Babs, like the Oracle was foreign and new and exotic to him. He didn't even spare her a single glance; his attention was focused on Babs.

She released her grip on the woman's shoulder to prevent herself from accidentally breaking it.

She didn't even deserve his attention, after all.

Bruce nodded, and Tim followed him as he stepped into the fray, disappearing into the crowd. Robin stayed.

She didn't know that his eyes were blue. She didn't know how his hair looked without its usual gel overload. She didn't even know how he looked like in a formal suit.

"Richard," Babs said, noticing the discomfort emanating from the empath behind her, tried to divert her attention from him. She had been staring at the man too long, and Babs worried that allowing her to come here would lead to her regression. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"I know you, then?" he asked, his voice now a sultry baritone. It suited his sculpted face and his lean, muscular body. He had always towered over her, and tonight wasn't an exception.

"Barbara Gordon," Babs greeted with faux politeness. "This is…"

But she had already gone, lost herself in the crowd, and soon found the door to the backyard. It was thankfully vacant.

The air around her stilled, as if sensing her need for solitude; there was only silence now. The silence that plagued her for five years…the silence that signified so many things and could say so many words without uttering a sound…it was her personal nirvana.

µµµ

I followed her as she made her way through the crowd, like she and I were the only ones there and no one was in the way. Barbara did not attract my attention, although she was quite a beauteous figure on her own. Despite that woman being in a wheelchair, she looked like she was just about ready for anything the world throws at her…even her own father's death.

But she was there, standing behind her and staring at me like she'd seen a ghost. She must have known me, right? Was she even aware of that deer-in-the-headlights expression that she wore, despite the fact that she swapped it with cold indifference all of a sudden? Her lavender hair was like a beacon to me.

It was easy to follow her in my peripheral vision as she casually slipped out into the crowd like a ghost. She was as pale as one, and I wondered if she ever went out, or if that was cheap make-up. I dismissed it as her natural colouring; maybe she had albino blood or something. I don't care much for science anyway. And her eyes…they were so purple that it wasn't even humanly possible for anyone else to have that eye colour. I didn't fail to notice the miniscule indention on her forehead, marred by scars around it, like something (a piercing, maybe?) had been pulled out quite barbarically. The thought made me want to protect her, even though I didn't know her.

Maybe it was because of her slight frame; her turtleneck hung around her like she was a coat hanger, but she didn't look that skinny to me. She was so plain and she looked so solemn, as if she was a Gordon herself. But…I would have known, wouldn't I? Bruce or Tim could have told me. Still, I'm sure that I have never seen her before.

I was polite to Barbara, but once I saw her disappear into the sea of people, I knew I had to go in as well.

There was a sense of uneasiness in my gut at the thought of losing her.

I shook hands as I moved towards where she did. She was so graceful, like she was floating, but she wasn't. It didn't look forced – it looked natural on her, like she'd been doing it all her life and didn't know otherwise.

She opened the backdoor, and I closed it gently behind me.

She was unaware of my presence for a few precious seconds, and I, myself, forgot that I was even there.

Her head was thrown back, and small, delicate streams of tears slid from her closed lids. The air around her was so heavy with grief and sadness that it was almost palpable. No sound escaped her lips, and the sounds coming from the house seemed to be nullified with this noiseless anguish. The moonlight shone on her face, seeking it out like a hungry spotlight yearning for a glimpse of this woman's form.

She fell on her knees, and still didn't make a sound other than a small thud as her knees hit the grass. Her hands covered her face, now hidden behind a curtain of her hair as she hung her head in defeat.

She did not disturb the night. There was stillness around her, marred only by her shaking shoulders as her tears heaved themselves out of her, falling on the ground and giving it some form of morbid life.

For once, I felt the desire to actually…help…someone.

I stepped on the ground, and she stopped. Undeterred by this sudden hostility, I placed a hand on her shoulder. My hand sunk a little, indicating that the sweater was indeed way too big for her. I could practically feel the stress in the air.

"Are you okay?" I mentally slapped myself. Of course she wasn't, if she was crying like that.

"Get away from me."

Her voice was broken and nasal. I mentally cringed; I liked girls who weren't very…snotty. But I found myself absolutely not caring about that, because I felt this sense of familiarity radiating from her. Her shoulders became less tense as she hastily wiped at her face.

"I know you…don't I?"

It wasn't a question.

"No. You don't. Now take your hand off of me before I cut it off."

She was lying, I knew, but her threat didn't seem fake. I valued my hand, so I released her from my grip. She stood up, and ran through her hair with delicate fingers.

She was even more beautiful up-close, even though her face was red and blotchy from all that crying. Her eyes looked dead. She wore no emotions, not even annoyance. It was a mask of total…blankness.

"Forget you ever saw me," she said, her voice taking on a cool monotone. She brushed past me, but I blocked her path. "Get out of my way. I need to tell Babs I'm leaving."

"Because I saw you?"

She didn't say anything, and I knew I was right.

"Get out. Please."

A new kind of desperation underlined her voice, even though it didn't change. There was just something about the way she said it that felt so…

"Tell me why."

She said nothing. Her face turned blank, emotionless. Her eyes became even more dead than usual. Her lips tightened to form a thin line.

"At least tell me your name."

Again, I got no response. What did I even do to this woman to make her so cold? Was she like those people who didn't like others to see them at their weakest?

There was that tug again, this time at my chest; I refuse to believe that I have a heart, but this sensation is starting to prove me otherwise. It was like I wanted to know what made her weak at any cost so that I could protect her from it.

I mentally shook my head to get rid of such thoughts. This woman threatened me once already, and she had made me hesitate for more than that. Yet…she seemed to withhold the answers that I wanted. No woman ever refused me!

"You don't need to know," she finally replied. She tilted her head sideways, and made a shoo-ing motion with her hand. "Go…do something other than disturb me."

I felt my patience lessen every time she said something. Why was she being so difficult, anyway? "Look, I'm just curious –,"

"It'll kill you." She cut me off so abruptly that it caught me off-guard. Not even Bruce cut me off like that. She took advantage of this and pushed me away. I felt some weird tingling emit from her fingers and flow into my chest, rendering me out of breath, even though the move was gentle and non-aggressive.

I gasped for air for a few seconds, and I didn't think she noticed that I heard the words that came out of her mouth in a solemn whisper:

"I don't want that to happen again."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Wow, it's been so long since I posted something for Teen Titans. ;A; I'll try to write something. *sigh* Poor me, going through writer's block...

.

.

"Richard…"

I grunted in reply.

My thoughts ran circles around that woman, unable to grasp her. What was her deal? She obviously knew me from before. My presence itself seemed to rattle her, and not in the I-want-to-jump-your-bones-and-have-crazy-monkey-sex-with-you way that I usually got from the ladies. How odd….and thoroughly annoying. And what was that weird zap I felt when she touched me? How did it not happen when I touched her? Was she some superhero? If so, why would a superhero know me at all?

"Richard…"

"Yes?" I finally replied, aggravated.

The woman lay on top of me, her tits pressing against my bare chest. Her face looked up at me with a mixture of both mild annoyance and innocence – the latter didn't seem to be there the night before.

She still had her womanhood wrapped around me, and its walls throbbed softly, making my previous thoughts a little fuzzier. I appreciated the fact that she was still as horny as I was, and it seemed that she had the stamina for it, too. Funny how pure she seemed to be when I met her last night just outside the Gordon's; I never would've expected such…experienced…moves. Still, I had only wanted to fuck her to release some of the frustration I felt. I didn't need to know her name, and the feeling seemed to be mutual.

It seemed that I still had some of that frustration to get rid of, despite a whole night of mind-blowing fucking.

She pressed herself up tighter against me and ran her nails softly down my cheeks with a sly grin.

"My, my," she chided. She ran a slick tongue from the base of my neck to my earlobe before nibbling gently on it. "Is that all the great Richard Grayson has to give? How…disappointing; I wanted…a little more fun…"

I flashed her a grin of my own, succeeding in striking the slightest tinge of fear in her eyes by making myself look as malicious as possible. I had that effect on people.

I removed my arms from the back of my head and allowed my hands to push her beautiful white ass upwards. She let out a little wince at the sudden gruffness, and I let one hand pull her hair back. She let out a cry of pain.

Beautiful.

"_Beg for it_."

These three words were the last I spoke that day before I let my lips touch her neck, her shoulders…and soon the rest of her, until she cried out in both pleasure and anguish.

Oh, did she beg.

She would have to be punished for teasing me, after all…

µµµ

It was raining when they lowered his coffin into the ground. Beside her, Barbara shed a single tear before hastily wiping it away.

Words were said, gestures were made, and it wasn't long before she and her friend were the only ones left standing underneath their respective umbrellas, staring at the mound of dirt before them and the headstone that sat above it.

"You're lucky to have had a father."

Barbara's head snapped up to look at her. Her face remained blank, yet her lips continued to move.

"At least he didn't make you fear your birthdays. At least he was there when you had your first boyfriend or whatever. At least he was there to be overprotective and insane about you. At least you had him and a mother, who will continue to love you even if they aren't there by your side. At least you had a father to care about, and who cared back, because that's what fathers do…isn't it?"

The woman in the wheelchair nodded, tears threatening to fall harder than they did yesterday, or the day before that. She could feel the grief rolling off of the woman in overwhelming waves, like a tsunami that washed over her. While she let it pass through, she couldn't ignore it. She also knew that Barbara had been crying to herself since the news arrived – a day after she landed on her doorstep – and she at least felt like she owed the woman some sort of emotional relief.

Crying, she found, was a good way to relieve some of that tension. She had done it the night before. Seeing Richard so blissfully unaware caught her off-guard almost literally blasted her backwards with sadness and total grief. She didn't want anyone to see what a mess she was at the mere sight of him, and he had to make it worse by talking to her. Sparks of emotions zipped around her mind then, and she almost lost control – how embarrassing would that have been?

"Even though I didn't know him personally, Commissioner Gordon was a good man in the eyes of everyone, and I'll know him through what his actions brought about," she continued, trying to get back on her train of thought. "Most people saw him as a man of justice, and he certainly was, because Gotham seems to be in better sync with its citizens and its law, as far as you've told me. His wife loved him, and this must mean that he certainly loved her back. _You_ loved him, too, and he loved you with a type of love that only a father can give to his daughter. He loved you unconditionally, despite being so protective of you that it must have suffocated you. But now you miss it, don't you? You miss him and his principles and what he did to abide by them. You miss his voice and his familiar scent that would always remind you of home. You miss those things.

"But I think you should look forward. Those memories are what keep him alive in you, and as long as you have them…you'll have him. What do your memories say about him? Would he tell you to cry and just let all that sadness out, or would he tell you to man up? No, he'd tell you to just be, to do whatever made you happy, because he was your father and he had been a great one to have raised you."

Halfway through her little speech, Babs had already turned into a blubbering mess. By the end of it, she had barely registered the thinly-veiled compliment her friend gave her.

"W-when have you b-been so philosophical?" she sputtered before wiping her tears and her nose.

She allowed a small smile to grace her lips. That was more like it. But tears weren't enough to get rid of the pain caused by a broken heart. "Trust me, five years in a padded cell makes you think. So, what do you say we grab a tub of ice cream on our way home?"

There were suddenly light footsteps around them, and she visibly stiffened.

Superheroes gathered around the grave, placing flowers in a silent vigil. Few spared her a passing glance, and when they did, looks of contempt graced their features, marring their images of perfection.

It was obvious that Batman had brought them there. It seemed that none of them knew the Oracle's true identity, save for a few females – what were they called again? The birds of prey, wasn't it? – who spared the quadriplegic woman obvious signs of grief for her loss.

Even fewer hung around, and they all stood there (figuratively) as the rain decreased before utterly disappearing.

"I see you're back in the world of the living."

The robotic voice could only belong to one man. While Babs conversed with her superhero friends, she had turned to see a changed Cyborg – he looked tougher, meaner and altogether more mature. Lines of stress (probably from all his work) showed through the small frown gracing his face. The robotic parts of him no longer glowed blue – even his eye radiated red – and it was mostly just the colour of pure silver.

She stepped closer, not wanting to scare him away, to allow a small distance between her and Babs. They didn't need to hear this conversation anyway.

"I never left," she said, trying to keep her voice as gentle as it could be. She found it challenging to eradicate that monotone voice that she herself loathed. "How's everything working out for you?"

"Fine." His reply was cold, unforgiving. She felt a new type of pain invade her mind. It hurt to know that he still hadn't forgiven her; she could feel all the apprehension directed towards her. "Why'd they let you out so early?"

"Good behaviour," she replied. He didn't need her gentleness, it seemed. It wouldn't work on him. He still hated her. "…I didn't want to come back, either. But Cy, you have to trust me now –,"

"The Raven I trusted died a long, long time ago," he snapped heatedly. Her seeming indifference always had that effect on people. She had learnt to deal with it. His actions weren't new; his words were the ones that hurt. "You are no one. You shouldn't even be here. Go back to the hell you came from, _half-demon_."

_Take it back_, she thought desperately. Her face gave nothing away.

"You single-handedly took down the Titans, you evil, demonic bitch. You destroyed us, what we stood for…Jump City was a mess. The economy took a massive beating. And Robin…he's gone. He turned into someone who doesn't know the difference between right and wrong! He's leading Wayne Enterprises deeper into…into crime! He'll ruin the world, Raven, and it'll be _your_ fault for making him like that!"

His voice rose an octave with each second word until he was fully shouting at her. His words reached the females that were huddled together in a group, and they looked at him apprehensively but said nothing. No, this wasn't their burden to bear. It was hers alone.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking him in both eyes. His human one was filled with so much pain and hatred that she had to block out anything that she felt from him to avoid getting herself caught up in it. If she was affected by his emotions…it would have disastrous – not to mention rude – consequences. She hadn't wanted to pick a fight, especially in Barbara's dad's funeral.

"Sorry will never cut it."

And he finally turned on his heel and walked away. She didn't watch his back as he did. She hadn't watched his back in ages, and she doubted she would be doing it again.

Not…not after –

No, she wouldn't let her thoughts go that far. She'd worked for years trying not to feel anything just by the mere remembrance of that event, but to no avail. She couldn't simply learn how not to be sad; she might not express these things, but she felt it.

Last night was a good example of that. She had good control of her powers, and she had meditated a good measure before going there. The emotions in the room coupled with Richard's arrival didn't do her wonders, and when she had to relieve herself of that feeling, he had been right there.

She had been so close to –

No. No, not again.

She stood a good distance away from Barbara's friends, and they didn't give her another look before leaving their own separate ways.

"Ready to go?" she asked, trying to seem as friendly as usual.

"Give me a minute."

And she understood.


End file.
